


Thor - 10 Words

by BridgeToTheSky



Series: Words [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Series, F/M, I had so much trouble with the tense, I think this is my favorite so far, Loki disrespects American television, Longing, Romance, This is also the longest wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridgeToTheSky/pseuds/BridgeToTheSky





	Thor - 10 Words

Haircut

You admit that you’re conflicted over the new do.

It was lovely on him, and it was a nice change to the long, gangling tresses that usually hung and whipped around Thor’s face.

But —

He presses you hard against the rock, dragging your leg’s calf and forcing it to hook against his waist, his lips lock against you.

Your hands reach up — muscle memory kicks in as they instinctively reach for his head, ready to grip on to hair that is no longer there for you to grip on to.

You settle for his neck, peppered with droplets of beach ocean from water crashes against the god of thunder’s back.

— there was less to _hang on to_ these days.

Interested

Attracting women is no sort of task for a being such as himself; they are enthralled by him. God, Odinson. Having admirers was the most natural thing in all of the Nine Realms.

So when Thor attempts to woo you, only for you to tilt your head and stare at him as though there was something missing from his (previously thought) perfect formula, he is reasonably taken aback.

What?

Women are easy. Especially mortal women (no offense, but in his experience, it doesn’t take much). But there is something about his approach that repels you.

Some sort of cruel, cosmic joke, he supposes. Until he takes a gander and goes for something different.

The next time you see him, he sits beside you in the immaculate garden, something extravagant growing from every corner, every thorned bush.

He turns to you, and as though the two of you were not sitting a garden, asks:

“So … you like flowers?”

You smile with ease, “Well,” you begin, “I think if I didn’t, I would have to consider myself a little lost …”

Thor smiles as well, looks down. “Which are your favorite?”

And that is the genesis of a tangent including peonies and anemones and hyacinths, the kind of tangent most only feel comfortable going into with those they trust most in the world.

Thor smiles wider with each new flower’s introduction. He supposes that there are some women who aren’t interested in gods.

Tender

The idea of having relations with a god was never an arousing one.

You liked history, and myths. Especially Greek myths, where wrath was hardly a feeling but a language in which almost all were fluent (maybe not Hades, but tell that to Sisyphus), where they lied and cheated, disguised and _raped_ their mortal conquests. There was no such thing as saying “no” to a god.

So, reasonably, you were a tad … hesitant when Thor began to want you in that way.

But …

For all his thrashing and brute strength, he finds new places to explore with his mouth almost every day, and when he isn’t hungering for you, he is playful. A lion, tossling you, forcing giggles by dancing fingers against parts of your skin that never see sunlight.

You could get used to this.

Faraway

Distance was nothing; even hundreds, thousands, _millions_ of skies away from you, Thor still looked to it and believed you were doing the same, looking up at your sky, wondering where he was.

What will happen to the two of you when he takes the throne? When he becomes a king?

He doesn’t like to think about it, though he knows he must — with great consideration — one day.

Thor closes his eyes, and feels Heimdall take him away.

When he opens his eyes again, your home is all he can see, and he makes his way to the door, knocks, and it swings open moments later, the cold of the night dissipating with the presence of your warm, coffee-heated lips.

But today is not that day.

Socks

Thor always looked odd to you when he went into mortal clothes. But socks.

Out of all the pair in the store he had chosen the most bizzare because he was Thor: a pair with dancing sharks wearing boxers.

On the couch, he taps his feet together like Dorothy ready to return home, grinning at the dancing sharks.

“Do you like them?” You ask beside him, absentmindedly digging into your popcorn bowl for the perfect specimen to fit in your mouth.

Thor chuckles a little and you think the answer is yes.

Yes

“Is she the one?”

Thor watches Loki’s face, waiting. But its expression did not turn nefarious; no smirk possesses his lips as he looks down at you.

Instead, something somber, solemn. Something Thor cannot not identify.

Loki looks up at long last, a head tilt, eyes narrowing in something like pity.

“A Midgardian, brother?” he says it as though Thor is a small child just having spilled his milk on the fine carpet. “Are you … just a _glutton_ for punishment?”

Thor looks down at you himself.

You are peaceful. There is something lonely in the way your face falls whenever your friends look away. So small, so sweet and fragile and unknowing …

Thor thinks the answer to Loki’s question is yes.

Brother

Golden-haired and chiseled, raven-haired and hollow in more ways than one.

You think to yourself: there’s _no_ way these two are related by any kind of blood that exists. You don’t care if they’re gods. There’s _no_ —

“It’s my turn —” Loki says, reaching for the remote in Thor’s hands.

Thor flinches it away from him, turning to Loki with a true _what the fuck?_ face. “I’m not done watching this.”

“The woman will obviously take the bait and then the man will come out and tell her it’s a social experiment — which she _clearly_ knows about, Thor,” Loki explains exasperatedly. “Truly riveting entertainment, but I think even you can see where this is going.”

The show's host comes out from his hiding place and the woman at the counter gasps, throwing hands up to her mouth in surprise.

Thor looks to Loki, offended. “Hey, there is genuine surprise on her face.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Oh, of _course_. I believe your definition of genuine and mine differ greatly, brother.”

More squabbling between two centuries-old godly adults ensues in your living room and you think to yourself:

Maybe blood doesn’t mean nearly as much as principle.

Name

It is quite a while before Thor learns your name, though you had known his on sight.

For the longest time, he has simply called you “my lady” in his head. “Woman” sounded to clinical, too … _Loki_ , and “his lady”, while ringing true to him as well, wasn’t quite true in the most realistic sense.

It is not shyness — it is not one of his flaws, to be entirely honest, it is that you kept slipping away from his grasp whenever he draws too close, ready to make himself truly known to you.

In the garden, you finally tell him, and every variation of your name he has generated for you have all fallen away the moment he hears it spoken by you. They were weak, ill-suited, not right.

Not **worthy**.

He rolls your name around his head before he says, “That is a beautiful name.”

His seconds of consideration seem to solidify the sincerity of his comment, and you smile. “Thank you.”

He says it on his lips, causing your smile to widen.

He doesn’t care if mortals shared names.

This is _your_ name.

Gold

It is not just the color of his hair, not just his aura.

He is gold.

Rich and intense, the color of victory and of triumph, loud and magnificent yet, somehow, soft.

 _Warm_.

If the brilliancy of Thor is what drew you to him, the warmth of his arms is why you stay.

Stay

He is Odinson and he knows it’s impossible — he tries to remain with you, but it can only be for so long before he is forced to depart and fulfill his role in the great vast All that is the universe

Thor knows it, his friends feel for him because of it — even Loki pities him for it.

After all, there is only so much he can give a mortal, and only so much you can give him.

But when your head falls against his shoulder and he can feel your heartbeat underneath your skin, for a second he cannot tell when he ends and you begin.

There are no wars, no fighting and no strife and no responsibilities and no All-Father —

There is only this.

He kisses your temple and forgets that there is anything else.

 


End file.
